


Happy New Year

by royalsunshinehotel



Category: David Copperfield - Charles Dickens, Modern Love - Fandom, The Wedding Guest (2018)
Genre: F/M, god bless dev patel, happy new years, oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalsunshinehotel/pseuds/royalsunshinehotel
Summary: Happy New Year with Dev Patel's characters
Relationships: David/you, Jay Menha/Reader, Jay/Reader, Jay/You, joshua/you





	1. Chapter 1

You loved New Year’s Eve, but this time you were nervous. 

About your relationship? Yeah. 

About life? Of course. 

You’re in love with an enigma. An enigma you’re currently laying on top of. 

Jay. 

Jay was a veteran, this much you knew for sure. You didn’t know where, when, or in what capacity, but he’d seen things, which his why he preferred your shared life to be quiet. 

Tonight was one of the loudest nights of the year. 

It’s 11:54pm, and you tighten your grip on him. 

He’s taller, stronger, and sweeter than you thought you deserved, and you’re not letting him go. You hope he knows he’s stuck with you because you’re not going to say it. 

Jay’s warm underneath you, relaxed as you slowly, stealthily stretch from his grip, to close the blinds, turning the dim light of your room into a stripes on the wall

You’d meant to do that earlier but he distracted you. 

Jay’s beautiful when he’s asleep. His curly hair’s pushed forward and he looks younger than he does during any time of the day. 

“Worried, jannu?” Jay’s voice rumbles in your ear. You hum as he rests a hand on the back of your head, taking a relaxed grip on your hair. 

“I’ll be alright.” He’s still half asleep, but he still feels that your tense. 

Yelling and celebrating starts outside of your window. You feel Jay twitch underneath you. 

You had a past too. There were things you couldn’t speak about, but you’ll always want to know where he went when he heard a loud noise. 

You’d never ask. He’d never tell. 

“Happy New Year.” His voice is soft, the words hang in the air for a moment in the dark, occasional crack of fireworks flashing. He’s closed his eyes, you should too. 

“Happy New Year,” you reply quietly in return. 

You tuck your head into his shoulder and quickly fall back to sleep. 

Jay stays up for a while after. Just a little while.


	2. Happy New Year (Joshua Madika)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2021 and Joshua's trying to make it better.

He knows this is your favorite day. 

The New Year. The energy changes, you can feel a buzz in the air. The exhilaration you usually felt had been flattened, and Joshua hated it. 

You believed things could get better, your optimism had been stolen from you this year, but he could help. 

The New Year held more weight, but he could take it off of you. 

“All dressed up and nowhere to go.” Your gown is a soft blue, and your white satin opera gloves can’t protect you from the cold of your glass. 

You’d been staring out the penthouse window, blank, for the past fifteen minutes. It was a beautiful view, but it all felt too heavy today. 

You looked down at yourself, than over at him, and laughed. 

“We look like millionaires.” He’s slumped next to you on the couch, in a full tuxedo, white gloves and tails. 

“Don’t tell anyone.” Joshua likes it like this. It’s a party for the two of you. All of this glamour, just for him. 

But he doesn’t know that mentally, you’re in a 1940s movie, maybe in a ballroom, or a rich person’s glass room with all of the plants. 

Morticia’s plant room from the Addams’s Family? Whatever it is, mentally you and Joshua are there. 

“It’s 11:50.” 

You give him a look that says “so?” 

“Let’s dance.” Joshua hops off the couch, disappearing from sight, and you can’t help but smile as you hear his socks thud on your hardwood floor. After a moment, music starts to play. 

Frank Sinatra. Of course. 

Joshua slides back to you dramatically, offering you a hand up off the couch, which you take. 

You hear the beads in your gown swish as you start to dance. He had no reason to make you this happy, and yet he does. Your happy. 

You’re just so happy. 

“I WANT TO BE A PART OF IT!” You and Joshua hop around the living room together, throwing your heads back to the most overplayed song of all time. 

“new YORK, new YORK.” Joshua honks out the wrong words. He’s not a bad singer, but he wants to make you laugh. He always does that, and he makes it look easy. 

The room is empty, obviously, you’re both dancing and bouncing like nothing else matters. 

You let him spin you around, heavy pearls in the skirt of your gown clacking against each other. 

He catches you, he always does. 

“You’re stuck with me, you know that right?” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Times Square is quiet on the TV, and the ball drops in near-silence, but you’re safe. Alone. Together. 

“Happy New Year, YN. I love you” Joshua states quietly, Redbone coming on shuffle, thumping low on the air in your apartment. 

“Happy New Year.” You hum as you wrap your arms around his neck, “I love you too.”


	3. Happy New Year (David Copperfield)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to drag David out to a party.

You couldn’t help but laugh. London’s hottest new writer got peer-pressured into a party by his publishers. He’d been a wreck the entire day, scrambling. You loved David, you adored your husband. 

But his love of clothes rivaled yours, and today it was unnecessary. 

It was a writing group, they’d be lucky to have him! You scoff to yourself as your husband started throwing waistcoats out of his closet, anxiety quickly becoming a full frenzy. 

You were getting changed behind a divider, laughing softly to yourself as you hear a thump. He must have fallen on one of his own shirts. 

In his defense, a Ms. Alcott from the United States had travelled to London, and perhaps he wanted to discuss Little Women? 

He’d read it too many times, she had to be the reason. 

And a Mark Twain? David was reading his works too, maybe he contributed to the anxiety. 

Ugh. Americans. 

“David, light of my life,” You peek around, seeing David raise his head from a pile of clothes, ”are so many costume changes necessary?” 

“My love, parties with more than five aren’t my forte.” 

“That’s why I’m attending as well.” 

“So it doesn’t have to do with the Americans coming?” 

“Look, you have nothing to worry about with Mr. Twain.” 

“I’m more intrigued by Ms. Alcott.” 

“Little Women is a triumph, I can’t believe they’re both visiting.” You smile, flashing back to a well-constructed ramble about Jo March and Frederich Bhaer that had gone from 10pm to 11am the next day. There was sleep in between, but when he woke he knew right where to start. 

You didn’t care much for Laurie, he made you think of Steerforth a little too much. 

“You look…” David’s eyes went round as you stepped out behind your room divider.

Stunning. You’re completely stunning, even two years into your marriage, you still make his mouth go dry. 

“I know.” You pull your hair off your neck, looking up at him demurely. He’d scoff if he wasn’t so distracted. 

“We don’t have to go.” You roll your eyes, he doesn’t get to have his cake and eat it too. David was essentially a hermit, he had to socialize at some point. 

“You simply must show me off!” You smack him in the arm with your purse, making him laugh.

“I can do that.” 

XX

You were one of two significant others at this party, and it made you immensely sad. David had been swept away from you so quickly and cleanly, you weren’t sure how you’d make it without him. 

And yet you did, a Mrs. Poe, hung around your back like a shadow. You couldn’t blame her, if you were as young as she, you’d be intimidated too. Wives had to stick with one another, after all. 

The writers are a raucous crew, getting more and more boisterous as the night progressed. You dances with a Thomas Hardy, and he laid out the entire plot of his upcoming book. 

The warm feeling in your chest when people dumped information into the air that they were passionate about was unparalleled. 

You had only felt that way when David was taking you through a story concept, or a half-idea of a character he met in a dream. If it was a trait of writers, you were thrilled that your husband was here. 

He asked for your honest thoughts, and you gave them. 

You liked that a woman was the object of affection without having her own flaws and character traits compromised. 

Three suitors was an accomplishment, and you wished this Bathsheba Everdeen character well. 

You turn your head to check on David periodically through the night, you can tell how much he’s been drinking by the volume of his hair. The room’s getting hot, and the writers had all begun to wind down, listening to you describe excerpts of David’s book from your own perspective. 

You’re waving your hands about how it felt to be in the room when Uriah Heap was dethroned, but your taken back to reality by your husband’s hand. 

David’s slipping out of a dark mahogany rocking chair, smiling at you, stupefied. 

“My love, you’re too kind to me.” You want to pinch him, but you’re in public. David’s most infuriating quality was that he always seemed surprised whenever someone spoke kindly to him. 

“I’m your wife, I’m supposed to be your biggest supporter.” He leans over to press an annoyingly soft kiss on your lips, making you smile as you pull back. 

You laugh as a small chorus of “booos” rung out through the intoxicated group. Ms. Alcott was halfway off of the couch, and Mr. Twain was on the floor near her, head underneath the aforementioned couch. 

The music had gotten louder, and the room had somehow gotten more warm, even in the dead of winter. You’d taken a seat beside Ms. Alcott, her legs in your lap, cracking up while comparing accents. 

The countdown to the New Year is complete, taking you into a new decade not with a bang, but a hum of contemporary writers who decided to have more in common than different. 

You look over at David, he’s staring across the living room. He’s slightly more in the rocking chair, sipping on water, matching you. He looked flushed, but happy. You’re not sure where one of his shoes went, but that seemed unfair as you’re not sure where yours are either. 

The two of you can’t wait to get home.


End file.
